


Mastering the Art of French Cooking

by SaveDelphine



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Sorry guys, idk what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaveDelphine/pseuds/SaveDelphine
Summary: I'm not sure what this is going to be, but when I finally felt the tingle in my fingers again this morning, I didn't want to let it pass without at least producing a little something. I hope there will be more chapters. Completely un-betad. Title obviously taken from the volumes of cookbooks of the same name by Julia Child.Shout out to my mates HermioneSpencer and SianRuns for being incredible and for continuously putting up with me.I also want to dedicate this short piece to Marta. Having always been an author I admire and having given me invaluable tips in the past, it seems quite fitting that it was while reading her wonderful fic The S Supremacy that the writing bug has finally stirred inside my chest again.Much love and sorry for my absence. I hope that this piece is the first step for me to get back on track.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HermioneSpencer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneSpencer/gifts), [SianRuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SianRuns/gifts), [Marta_TP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta_TP/gifts).



> I'm not sure what this is going to be, but when I finally felt the tingle in my fingers again this morning, I didn't want to let it pass without at least producing a little something. I hope there will be more chapters. Completely un-betad. Title obviously taken from the volumes of cookbooks of the same name by Julia Child.  
> Shout out to my mates HermioneSpencer and SianRuns for being incredible and for continuously putting up with me.  
> I also want to dedicate this short piece to Marta. Having always been an author I admire and having given me invaluable tips in the past, it seems quite fitting that it was while reading her wonderful fic The S Supremacy that the writing bug has finally stirred inside my chest again.  
> Much love and sorry for my absence. I hope that this piece is the first step for me to get back on track.

My palms were sweaty. Even with my arms crossed over my chest and my hands burrowed into to fabric of my white sleeves, I could practically feel the moisture leaving my pores, producing a thin layer of liquid covering my skin. A fact that only I was aware of, of course. An onlooker would have had no way to notice the quick beating of my heart or the way I clenched my teeth. Even my nose tingled as I watched the three people in front of my lividly discussing among themselves. As far as they'd know, I was totally unfazed by the spectacle in front of my eyes. Standing in a group, they made sure to keep as quiet as possible as not to let any syllable leave their circle of power. Still I could see the heat in their words. The middle-aged man with his broad back to me kept waving his right arm into my general direction, obviously making a very heartfelt argument. Whether for or against me, that I could not tell.

The man opposite him, maybe 10 years younger, had his hands on his hips and nodded quietly. Since he was facing me, I could read his lips and see that his next words were _I agree_. Had I only trained this skill of mine a little more, maybe I would have been able to make out the following sentences he addressed to the group. Maybe my situation would have become less nerve-wracking then, learning of their decision at once and not standing there, waiting like a pig in front of the butcher. Still an easy smile grazed my lips and as I saw the horrified expression of the young woman standing beside me, I winked at her, hoping to maybe ease some of her tension with this simple act.

It was only when the third and last person in the group in front of us took the word that I felt my hands flex around my biceps. From the first moment I had laid my eyes on her, I had known that she would be the biggest hurdle to my endeavor. With a glare in her eyes that could kill, she looked back and forth between her male colleagues in front of her.

_Are you serious!?_ Damn, my lip reading skills definitely needed some refinement, but even though I couldn't make out any more of her words, it wasn't hard to tell that she was agitated. With her hands waving in front of her, dancing in circles, she seemed to give her utter best to convince the men of whatever she was saying. But instead of agreeing with her, they shook their heads and seemed to quietly bolster their own arguments. The look on the woman's face changed from disbelief to anger when her left hand formed a plane and she brought her right hand down on it again and again in rough chopping motions. She was clearly trying to make a point. But to her exasperation, she was clearly failing. The men just shook their heads again and seemingly in defeat, she threw her hands up in the air.

When the older man extended his arm to hand her a roll of burgundy red fabric, she shook her head emphatically, refusing to take it. But the younger man took a step towards her and laid a hand on her arm in what was probably supposed to be a calming gesture. Whispering into her ear for a couple of seconds, he ended his apparent suasion with a nod over her shoulder, seemingly reminding the tall vixen of the multiple cameras pointed at her.

Something in her changed at once. It was not like the anger evaporated or like the bitterness suddenly vanished. Their appearance was just suddenly hidden by a mask of professionalism and a fake air of calm. Still when she finally reached for the fabric offered to her and took a few steps towards my fellow in misery and myself, I could see the flames in her eyes.

The two men joined her, walking up and taking position to either side of her and only then, after the hours of sweating under scrutiny, did I finally have the chance to examine the tall blonde in front of me in more detail. Her legs so long that they should really have been illegal, she stood in front of us with poise and composure. Her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she revealed tender wrists and long fingers, fitting perfectly into the story of her reputation for perfectionism and attention to detail. Her jacket buttoned up completely made her slender ivory neck look even more fragile. Her face, framed by some loose golden curls that had found their way out of her tight bun, could only be described as a mask of steel. But her lips tight and her jaw obviously clenched didn't take away anything from her harrowing beauty. A beauty that I had seen a million times before, watching her on TV, in newspapers, and on the cover of books. But all of that didn't compare to the sight in front of my eyes in that moment. That woman was just stunning. Maybe that had helped her get to the point where she was right then in her career, because apparently, she was also an asshole.

"Chef Weiss, Chef Niehaus, both of you have delivered interesting dishes to the judges' table today." Her choice of words not lost on me, an amused chuckle left my lips. An uttering that was met with a fiery glare. "I can see that only one of you takes this competition seriously. And quite frankly, in my opinion only one of you has the skill needed to advance here today. But the rules of the contest are clear and my co-judges seem to strongly disagree with me here. This is why the last apron ... "

Taking two steps forward, she was now only an arm's length away from us. Looking at the woman beside me, her eyes grew soft for a second. "I'm very sorry, Chef Weiss. This is why the last apron goes to Chef Niehaus."

I felt sorry for Melody, she had been a charming competition up until then. Still I couldn't keep a wide grin from splitting my face as I accepted the burgundy apron from the tall blonde and put it on, tying the strings behind my back.

"Welcome to the master class, Chef Niehaus. We are glad to have you." The smile on the blonde's lips didn't reach her eyes and it was obvious that it was meant for the TV cameras surrounding us, not for me.

_Challenge accepted, bitch._


	2. Chapter 2

_15 contestants, four months of challenges, one grand prize: 500,000 US Dollars and their very own cookbook. Welcome ... to Master Chef season 10._

_The youngest chef to ever be awarded a Michelin star, she is known not only for for her exceptional knife skills, but also for her unprecedented attention to detail._

Pictures of the blonde at work in the kitchen and posing with a pompous certificate are replaced by her slender form sitting in an armchair. For a change she's not wearing her white chef's jacket, but a loose black top that only seems to be secured by a thin piece of fabric wrapped around her neck giving view of both her very toned biceps and a scar on her chest.

 _"For me ... "_ I can see her eyes sparkle when she opens her bright red mouth. _"For me it's about respect, you know?"_ Her hair braided, large silver hoop earrings are quick to catch the viewers' attention. Still they cannot distract from the dreamy smile that appears on the blonde's lips as the heavily accented words roll off her tongue.

 _"In the end, these are animals, living beings, dying to provide us with food. This is produce, whose cultivation has cost a significant amount of money and resources. And these are the fruit of the labor of so many hardworking men and women who have dedicated their lives to feeding others."_  

The video cuts to the blonde in the kitchen again, examining a plate of raw oysters, adjusting the decoration of water cress and lemon rinds with a scalpel in her hand. Still her voice continues speaking from the off. 

_"That's what it is about, respect. I take these ingredients and I turn them into dishes and as a chef it is my duty to make them as good as they can possibly be to honor everything and everyone who has contributed to bringing this food into my kitchen."_

A picture of the blonde with an grey-haired man beside her appears on screen.

_After receiving Le Cordon Bleu's Grand Diplôme at only 17 years old, she moved from Paris to Lyon. There she worked under renowned chef Paul Bocuse in his restaurant L'Auberge du Pont de Collonges, rising through the ranks and taking position as his sous chef at the tender age of 22._

_"Working with chef Bocuse was incredible."_ Cut back to the blonde in the armchair now toying with the three silver rings on her right hand that are naturally absent when she is usually seen in the kitchen. _"His skill, his work ethic, the unbelievable talent he manages to congregate at L'Auberge ... he has made me the chef I am today."_

 _After a year of leading the prestigious restaurant of New York City's Fours Seasons hotel, she moved to Los Angeles in 2015 to open her first restaurant "L'Amour et l'Art."_ The screen changes from New York's skyline to the interior of a very posh restaurant. White tablecloths, polished glasses, and an army of waiters in black ties tending to the guests' every need.

 _"The name?"_ She laughs, small dimples forming on her cheeks and the high pitch of her voice echoing through the speakers. _"It's simple, really. For me,"_ she takes her right hand and puts it on her chest, covering her heart, _"that's what food is, that's what cooking is. L'amour et l'art, love and art."_

Now shown from the outside, the name of the restaurant can be seen in bold white letters, illuminated by the afternoon sun. _Barely a year after opening her restaurant, she was awarded with her first Michelin star at the age of 26, being the youngest person to ever receive the accolade and holding it until now._

_"Receiving the star was such an honor. Thinking about all the hard work my team and I have put in just fills me with pride. Seeing that my philosophy resonates with both our guests and the critics is incredibly rewarding."_

Cut to the blonde in front of a full body mirror with a folded white chef's jacket in hand. She unfolds it and slowly opens the buttons. As she puts it on, the camera zooms in on how she pulls the fabric over her shoulder, on how she closes the front buttons, on how she rolls up her sleeves. She turns around, now directly facing the camera, crossing her arms over her chest that is now embroidered with a burgundy red _m_.

_Master Chef is honored to welcome Chef Delphine Cormier as the newest judge on season 10._

Now it's her on the screen again, this time in her chef's jacket, pacing through the show kitchen. _"What I bring to Master Chef? Discipline, preparation, attention to detail. We are looking for America's biggest cooking talent and the prize is not a small one. If you can't handle a knife, if you don't come prepared, if you don't keep your kitchen clean, you have no business being here."_

The formerly warm smile is gone from her face and is replaced with the all too familiar fire again. A fire of pure passion.

_"I want the best from the contestants and I will not relent before I get it."_


	3. Chapter 3

The look on her face was utter horror. As I stood in the show kitchen with my hands up in the air, she stopped in front of my cooking area with her eyes wide and her hands gesturing erratically.

"Chef Niehaus!?"

Her high-pitched voice ringing in my ear, I looked around myself. And to be honest, I wasn't really surprised by her reaction. My cooking area was in a bit of a disarray ...

"How do you turn a clean kitchen into a bomb site in 30 minutes!?"

I opened my mouth to disagree with her, to tell her that she was exaggerating and that it really wasn't that bad. That however was exactly the moment in which out of the corner of my eye I saw an egg I had previously spilled on the counter very slowly creep to the edge and fall towards the ground. Almost in bullet time did the egg white reach the edge of the wood and started to spill over. First it was only a small amount, but with gravity pulling it down, more and more of the egg white left the plane and began stretching down. When the yolk finally followed, it managed to dirty all four of the drawer handles below before finally hitting the sturdy floor with a splashing noise.

When I mustered the courage to look at Chef Cormier again, I couldn't help but notice the way her hands were balled I to fists by her sides and the way her jaw was clenched. I could see her gaze wander. From my face to the ripped open plastic bag on my right to the egg carton. An egg carton from which it had taken me five eggs to actually get two into the water. Continuing to the large pot filled with water still at a rolling boil and to the trail of hollandaise sauce I had left from said pot to my plating area at the other end of the counter. And of course the strewn about pieces of cookware and chives and a small but significant puddle of blood from when I nearly amputated the tip of my index finger. And of course, back to my face.

My plan was to say something to my defense. But before I could utter a single word, her eye twitched and she pressed a single word out between her tight lips.

"Out."

She spoke it so quietly that I wasn't sure I had understood it correctly. But the way I crooked my head apparently didn't do much to appease her.

With heat clearly creeping into her face, she raised her arm and pointed at the door.

"OUT OF MY KITCHEN!"

She had murder in her eyes and her voice was a roar that could surely be heard even in the last corner of the arena. Never before I had seen her like this. And although I could have challenged her or tried to diffuse the situation with a joke or two, it was very obvious that those things would have done nothing to appease her. They only would have made it worse. So for the first time in my life, I opted for an orderly retreat. Taking a couple steps back, I lowered my hands to my sides and moved to the side of the arena. I did so in a sideways shuffling motion, never taking my eyes off the furious blonde out of fear she could throw a paring knife into my shoulder blade should I turn my back to her.

Only when I reached the perimeter of the room did Chef Cormier turn around and make her way back to the other judges at the front of the room. And only then I was brave enough to turn around myself and hurry to the back of the room. But instead of the exit which I was very sure she had wanted me to take, removing me completely from this round, I took the stairs right next to it, leading me up to a gallery from which I could watch everything that was going on on the floor beneath me.

One by one did the other contestants take their dishes to the front to have them tasted by the jury. One by one they had to face tough critique with the occasional compliment mixed in as well. With my spot being vacant, my dish never reached the judges' table. Until they were done tasting, that is.

Chef Jamie and Chef Gordon whispered something among themselves before turning to the blonde. When she heard what the apparently told her, her face that had previously returned to its usual color, took on a dark shade of crimson again. Shaking her head emphatically, I could see her mouthing the word "no" over and over again.

"Chef Michaels!" To my surprise Chef Gordon turned away from the blonde again and addressed the contestant who had cooked at the station next to mine. Phoenix was his name and he was the person I preferably engaged in gossip with between shows and at the dinner table. "Would you be so kind to bring Chef Niehaus' dish to the judges table?"

Phoenix didn't hesitate a second before picking up my plate and taking it to the front. I didn't watch him though, instead my gaze was locked on the blonde's, who seemed to stare right into my soul. Frown on her face and her hand squeezing the knife laying on the table before her, I was very sure that I would not get away this easily.

 


End file.
